


Endearing Young Charms

by MahnaMahna



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahnaMahna/pseuds/MahnaMahna
Summary: His world is stagnating around him, but Jareth desires more than to be swallowed by the slow petrification of his surroundings. He ventures out of the Underground to find a new, more vibrant life.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Endearing Young Charms

**Author's Note:**

> So. I'm deeply entrenched in my Legend series at the mo, and this was written some time back and has previously been posted on my ffn account. I started and have always intended to finish a sequel for it but took it down from ffn after deciding to rework it, then I rewatched Legend and the Darkness/Lily bug bit me *hard* and now I've got a fever and the only perscription is writing a long, complicated fanfiction series about it.
> 
> Lately I've pretty much only been on Ao3 because I feel it's a more appropriate place for my Legend fics as they're rather explicit. I'm partially posting this because Ao3 is kind of home base now and I like this one and wanted to bring it in, partially to motivate myself to actually get on the sequel eventually. Labyrinth is my oldest and deepest love, I'm sure I'll come back to it once the damn fever sweats out. It's gonna be a minute, though.
> 
> Also, any continuation will undoubtedly be J/S, I promise.

"And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, would entwine itself verdantly still…" he hummed softly to himself, one bare finger twirling in the trodden dirt beside his knee as he sat in the dim tunnel. "…to which time will but make thee more dear… hmm." His finger paused in its movements for a moment and then tapped a few times as he tried to remember the words to the song. "…truly loves on to the close… Ah! As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, the same look which she turned when he rose."

Jareth let his head fall back against the ancient stone wall, watching the dust motes dance in the spare light. His hands hung limply aside him, one glove peeled off as the other still clung to his slender fingers. His head twitched slightly to the side to listen, and he heard… nothing. He sighed lightly as he pushed himself up and began walking the tunnel, trailing a finger across the wall as he went, still humming.

"Like… like faery gifts fading away, thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, let thy loveliness fade as it will…"

"Ah-hem."

"…fade as…"

"You're going the wrong way."

Jareth stopped short, looking towards the behemoth face whose right pupil his finger was currently resting upon. "No, I'm not."

"Ah, but this is not the way to the castle!"

"I think that I know where my own castle is, thank you."

The great stone eyes shifted and strained as though trying to see past the obstruction that was the Goblin King's hand. Jareth took his finger away.

"Why, your majesty! Terribly sorry, we haven't seen you in these parts of the tunnels in some time."

"Yes. I was just having a day out."

"Of course, sire, of course."

Both were silent for a moment, slipping into the considering stillness of ancient bones. "How long?" Jareth asked, furrowing his brow in concentration.

"Long, sire?"

"Yes, how long since I've been down in the tunnels, would you say?"

"Oh, my. Well," the stone face blustered a bit, its deep voice rasping and grinding. "I couldn't possibly! The stones count time in millennia. It may have been the span of a life or a breath… I only know that the dust has grown thick again since last it was disturbed."

"Indeed, yes. Since it was last disturbed." Jareth took a step forward to continue his aimless stroll, dimly noting an indentation in the dirt that might have once been a footprint. "Would you notice, do you think, if I did not return at all?" He paused again to await the answer to his query.

"The stones have long memories."

"Perhaps, but when the stone has been worn for eons, and your face is ground smooth by the weight of your own age, will you remember if this was the last moment that you'd seen me? Will you remember then, that I was your king?"

"Sire…"

Jareth sighed once more. "The air grows stale. Mortal dreams have long turned towards other worlds, towards desires that the Underground cannot fulfill. What stories are told of us no longer hold enough truth to sustain. All that is left is the desert."

"The goblins, sire?"

"Are content to create havoc amongst themselves and carouse with chickens. They found this world long before my kind did and will no doubt stay long after the last of us have gone. After _I've_ gone."

There was silence again in the passage as the king watched the air stir only by his own breath. The stones fell back into contemplation, words of reassurance lost to truth.

"There was a girl," the king said, voice soft and distant as he reached for the memory, "a beautiful girl. I think… I cannot recall her name, nor her face. I remember dark hair and eyes full of fire, a cruel mirror of my own longing. I cannot recall her name, but I think that I loved her for her eyes, for the promise they held. " He blew out a breath in quiet frustration. "My memory grows stagnant when the stillness takes over. I cannot go on this way."

The walls did not reply.

"Would that I could pass through the veil with grace, but the thought of it fills me with regret and sorrow more than peace. I yearn for life, for movement." Jareth passed his hands over his face, skin and silk pressing his eyes and swiping over his cheeks and lips. His fingers drew down beneath his jaw, resting on the slow and strong rhythm of his heartbeat and finding small comfort in its persistence. "I think that I must leave this world. I must follow that fire, allow it to consume me. I doubt I will find the girl. She may be old. She may have long ago cleared the veil herself, or she may yet be young. Human lives slip away so quickly, and time is fickle in the silence." He tilted his head and furrowed his brow as he thought. "I will not seek her out, but I will carry the memory of her eyes to light my way. I will allow her to guide me."

The stone face again said nothing. The earth had no wisdom for him, no encouragement or need to sway his decision. The vibration of his voice did not penetrate the perimeters of the passageway. He stood alone as the rocks continued to exist without his rule.

* * *

Jareth sat on the edge of the tufted bench which stood at the foot of his bed. He looked around at the worn but well cared for furniture, swept his hand over the plush blankets that had kept him warm at night for many lonely years. The hearth was cold and cleared of soot, the mantle bare. He looked into the crystal perched on his thumb and index finger, watching the humans step briskly along walkways and go about their days. He brushed a hand down his torso and lifted it to touch the tips of his trimmed hair. His golden mane now fell to his neck, still thick and only slightly tamer than it usually laid.

He took a deep calming breath as he stood, tugging on the hem of his jacket. He wore the simplest clothes that he owned, all in deep blacks. His shirt was fine silk but without ruffles or lace, his trousers fitted but of sturdier material than he favored and his boots cut to the ankle with a low heel. His jacket was smooth leather that tapered at his hips, asymmetrical lapels flat against his chest and creased collar tucked against his neck and shoulders. He felt still like Jareth the aged and well-bred creature of wild magics, Jareth the scholar, the mage, the man, but perched on a great precipice that required him to leave pieces of himself behind like the flaxen locks so carefully set on his pillow, a last reminder to his world that he had existed. He was no longer Jareth the King.

He walked through his suite with a small leather satchel, collecting odds and ends that he wished to keep to ground him, to cherish. A book of poetry in the old language, one of his earliest seeing stones, a fine clay figure of an owl which he believed that his mother had gifted him. He kept two pairs of gloves, one silk and one leather, for the comfort of old habits and protection from the dangerous metals of the Above.

Staring at himself in the large standing mirror by the wardrobe, Jareth lifted a finger to his sharp cheekbone. He rubbed at the colored skin by his eyes and the bridge of his nose, huffing slightly. The shadows were slight without extra paint, but noticeable. His tilted brows also gave him away. No matter that he tried to dress and style his hair to appear more human, he would have to use a glamour to modify his face. He supposed that a new life was worth the small strain of maintaining it day after day.

One last look around and he was ready. He walked to the bed again, gently laying his pendant over the hair on his pillow. The release of the symbol of his office was his last act, the end of his reign. He left his kingship quietly, inhaling as he faded away, leaving nothing but the barest cloud of shimmering dust floating to the rug. The room was silent.

* * *

Jareth let out his breath in the frigid evening air, looking around at the brick walls to either side of him. He'd chosen this spot for its inconspicuousness, observing no one glancing in this direction. He smelt the strange perfumes of the city, petroleum and street food and rubber heating the mud as tires span through the streets. Adrenaline put him on alert, speeding his heartbeat and quickening his breath. His eyes stung at the hint of cigarette smoke on the breeze, but he kept them wide as he stepped forward and onto the busy sidewalk. The noise almost overwhelmed him and he grinned for the first time in what felt like years.

Someone shouldered past him for standing still, and he turned on his heel to move with the flow of foot traffic, feeling almost giddy. Jareth walked quickly, taking in the lights and all of the chaos that his surroundings had to offer. His foot landed in a shallow puddle and he laughed a bit, continuing on with a spring in his step and a new light building in his eyes. He had no idea where he was going, and it was wonderful.

"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, but as truly loves on to the close. As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, the same look which she'd turned as he rose," he sang quietly under his breath, smiling at his reflection in shop windows and watching the sky slowly dim to a grey twilight.

To Jareth, the night once again felt like the promise of a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> Last note, the song that Jareth sings here is an old Irish ballad called "Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms." In full:
> 
> Beleive me, if all those endearing young charms,  
> Which I gaze on so fondly today,  
> Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms  
> Like fairy gifts fading away  
> Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,  
> Let thy loveliness fade as it will,  
> And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart  
> Would entwine itself verdantly still
> 
> It is not while beauty and youth are thine own  
> And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear  
> That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known  
> To which time will but make thee more dear.  
> No, the heart which has truly loved never forgets  
> But as truly loves on to the close  
> As the sunflower turns on her God when he sets  
> The same look which she turned when he rose


End file.
